


In a cottage by the sea

by MelodyMayhew



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Aging, Angst, Cuddles, Family Feels, Fluff, Immortal Husbands, Joe and Nicky are Good Dads, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:20:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25617994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodyMayhew/pseuds/MelodyMayhew
Summary: He knows the distinct knock at the door as well as if it were his own pulse.“Use the key!” Giosuè shouts, “I don’t feel like getting up!”The truth is more that it hurts to get up, but he doesn’t feel like sharing that with them. They will only worry.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 76
Kudos: 647





	In a cottage by the sea

**April 12th, 1998**

It is a small house, remote and tucked into a forgotten street corner that most of the village has forgotten about. From the front, it is unremarkable, a few stray strands of ivy creeping at the gate, but nothing overgrown. Everything is well tended and in its place. He’s lived here for close to fifty years now. The interior is small, but well-appointed. Antiques of various age and quality cover shelves and desks and bookcases, all destined to never be found. His bedroom overlooks the ocean, and the cool breeze soothes his inflamed joints on painful nights. It is a good life, a quiet life, and an honest one. Now in his twilight, Giosuè finds that most days pass uneventful, same as the others. Maybe he will read a book, or take a nap, or sit outside in his rocking-chair and watch the birds. Except for today. Today is always a special day.

He knows the distinct knock at the door as well as if it were his own pulse.

“Use the key!” Giosuè shouts, “I don’t feel like getting up!”

The truth is more that it  _ hurts _ to get up, but he doesn’t feel like sharing that with them. They will only worry.

The soft clink of a key clicking against the latch echoes, and then the door creaks open. Two near-silent sets of footprints whisper down the narrow hallway.

The door to his bedroom is open, always open. Easier to get in and out, but also easier to see them, when they come. Giosuè smoothes out the comforter over his knees and pats down the thinning hair on his head.

“Take your time, old men!” He shouts.

A dark, curly head pokes in first. “Old man, you say?”

Closely following behind him, another head, hair closer cropped, and eyes that shine like the Meditteranean.

Giosuè’s face bursts into a grin, his heart overflowing. “You came.”

They enter his room together, hands intertwined. The man with the seafoam eyes smiles oh-so-gently and draws close to his right side. He bends to kiss Giosuè’s forehead.

“Of course we did. We always come.”

On the opposite side, the curly-haired man pulls up the careworn green velvet armchair - a gift from Aunt Roma - scoots in tight next to Giosuè, knees pressing against the bed frame. He takes Giosuè’s old hand into his young one, holding his fingers carefully and delicately as if they are made of paper.

Giosuè squeezes Yusuf’s hand as tight as he can, which isn’t much, and smiles.

“Baba.”

Yusuf’s eyes shine and he holds the back of Giosuè’s hand to his cheek.

“Abnay alhabib.”

Giosuè feels the bed dip next to him, a familiar warmth at his side. His smile splits wider, wrinkling up to his eyes.

“Papa,” he murmurs, curling into the strong arm that wraps around his frail shoulders. Nicolò kisses his wispy head.

“How are you?” Nicolò asks. “Do you hurt?”

Without turning, Giosuè can hear the crease of his worried nose.

“Not much. And not when you are here.”

Yusuf sighs, too much sadness draped over his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he says. “We should visit more often.”

Giosuè shakes his head. “No, Baba. The world needs you.”

“ _ You _ need us.”

“Not for many decades. It is nice when you visit, but I am not a boy any more. I am a very old man.”

“Not as old as us,” Nicolò says quietly, and the grief behind those words is immeasurable. Giosuè knows what he is about to say and just laughs.

“I swear, Papa, if you tell me one more time how you wish you could share your gift with me... I don’t want it. I  _ never _ wanted it. Besides,” he smirks - in the same lopsided way his Baba does - “who would want to spend eternity with you lovesick fools? I got bored at twenty!”

Yusuf puts together a look of mock outrage.

“Giosuè ibn Yosef al-Genoa,” he chides fondly, nothing but warmth in his voice, “you will not speak to your fathers so insolently. Our love brought us to you, and so it is--”

“Yes, yes, the greatest blessing of the world, I know.” Giosuè turns to Nicolò. “Still incurable, I see?”

Nicolò smiles, his eyes meeting Yusuf’s. “Always.”

Despite being a half-century and change too old for childish faces, Giosuè still sticks his tongue out like he has tasted something disgusting.

“Bleh!” He fake-retches. “You’d better not kiss in front of me.”

This is a game they’ve played more times than they can count. Yusuf and Nicolò light up with devilish smiles as they lean towards each other in slow motion. Giosuè presses up both of his hands and smacks his palms over each of their mouths.

“No!” He is giggling now. “Stop!”

They are shaking silently with laughter as they begin to extravagantly,  _ wetly _ kiss Giosuè’s palms, making exaggerated noises of pleasure. 

“Oh, Yusuf,” Nicolò exclaims, smacking kisses as he goes, “you light such a fire in me.”

Yusuf has taken a hold of the hand over his nose and is rubbing his beard in it - Giosuè has always loved the surprising softness of it. “My Nicolò, how I  _ worship _ you.” He draws out the word ‘worship’ with such extravagance that it gains at least three syllables.

“Papa,” Giosuè protests, fully immersed in the game, “that is my  _ hand! _ ”

Nicolò makes a sound of heightened shock and pulls away. Yusuf in turn gasps. They hold up Giosuè’s palms and examine them carefully. Slowly, they look up, meet eyes, and in unison they drop Giosuè’s hands to the bed.

“Yuck!” Yusuf cries out.

“Who let this strange young child into our house?” Nicolò wipes at his mouth with gusto. “He is a trickster - a devil!”

“Indeed he must be,” Yusuf agrees, “and you know what we must do to drive out the devil.”

Giosuè shrinks. “No!” He’s already started squirming. “Please, I’m too old for this part!”

But it’s too late. His fathers have pounced, and they are  _ tickling him _ .

“Begone, little demon!” Nicolò scurries his fingers into Giosuè’s side. 

Giosuè laughs and laughs and laughs until he cries, hiccuping with delight. For one fleeting moment, he is seven years old again, his bones are not weary and his heart is full of uncomplicated joy. When they have both had their fill of silliness, they clamber next to him, bracketing him on both sides and cradling him like it was their first night as a family those many moons ago.

“We love you,” Yusuf whispers at his temple.

“So very much,” Nicolò echoes.

They wrap arms around each other, carefully, and Giosuè sinks deep into the cocoon of safety they have created for him. He closes his eyes.

“I think,” Giosuè says, peaceful but firm, “I think this should be our last visit.”

His fathers tense on either side of him. He can practically  _ hear _ Yusuf’s eyes welling up with tears.

“We have more time,” he hears his Baba say. “You’re barely ninety. A young pup.”

“Give me this, please. I want you to remember me this way, just so. When I can still remember too.”

Gently, they turn his face so he can see them both. He looks up at eyes filled with a boundless love built for him alone. Their unlined faces crease with sad smiles.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen them look so old.

“We can do this,” Nicolò says, “if it is truly what you want.”

Giosuè sighs, and a little tear trickles from the corner of his eye.

“What I want is to be with my family.”

Nicolò nods. “We are here.” He bumps his forehead gently against Giosuè’s. “We are here, my son.”

“As long as you want,” says the echoing voice behind him.

“Thank you,” Giosuè replies. He snuggles himself between them, one hand covering Nicolò’s arm draped across his side, the other hand laid out on Yusuf’s chest.

“Do you remember the first time you held me like this?”

Yusuf snorts. “How could we forget? You kicked my shins so hard in your sleep the bruises actually  _ stayed _ .”

“They did not!”

“Oh, but they did.” Yusuf winces with a hiss between his teeth. “I can still feel it.”

Giosuè winks at him. “Good,” he says decisively. “That means you will always remember me.”

They squeeze him tight between them.

“Always,” they say as one.

Giosuè sighs, content down to the marrow of his bones.

“Always,” he echoes, a little sleepy. “Now tell me again the story of how you first found me.”

Nicolò strokes his hair. “It was at the end of the Great War, and your Baba and I had just gotten married for the twenty-seventh time...”

….

**Epilogue: April 12, 1918**

“For the last time, I said  _ no _ .”

“And for the last time,” Joe says firmly, “we’re not asking.”

Andromache throws up her hands in exasperation.

“He’s a child! You can’t bring a child to war with you!”

“We have no intention of doing that.” Nicky’s voice is dangerously calm, the tone he takes when he knows that no one in their right mind will ever try and start a fight they cannot win.

Andromache frowns. “What do you mean?”

Joe slides his arm around Nicky’s waist, drawing strength from him. “We’re asking for a break, boss.”

The anger leeches out of her, replaced with uncertainty and fear.

“For how long?”

“Enough to let him grow up,” Nicky says. “At least twenty years. Maybe more.”

“You don’t think he’s going to ask questions? You don't think he won’t know what you are?”

“He already knows,” Joe says. “He may not understand it, but he watched us get shot straight through and stand up again.” Yusuf can’t help but laugh softly. “He - he called us  _ angels _ .”

Andromache snorts, her lips quirking. “You? Far from it.” Her face gentles and she draws them close; wraps one hand around the back of Nicky’s neck, leaning her forehead against Joe’s.

“You understand what you’re asking? What this will do to you?”

They nod, solemnly.

“It could break you,” she adds. “Your hearts are full of so much love, I can’t-- you’ll have to watch him die.”

They fold her into her arms then, Joe’s lips on Andromache’s cheek. Nicky reaches around her and takes Joe’s hand.

“Yes,” Nicky says.

“But we will also get to watch him live.”

**Author's Note:**

> The plot bunnies grabbed me by the ears for this one. I blame the end credit pics of wartime Joe and Nicky with kids. It hit me right in the heart and I thought but what if they adopted themm?!! SO MANY FEELS!
> 
> If any of my Arabic is incorrect, please let me know and I'll make changes!
> 
> Thanks for reading and stay safe out there - find me on tumblr @destatihayati


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